Okay, I think I'm resolute on something now.
[Begin Spoiler for Veronica Mars Season 2 — Highlight to view]
I like Veronica and Duncan together. I realize this puts me at odds with most fans. But whatev! That's nothing new. I also realize that, as this is tv, there's no way they'll last out this season. But I still hope they do. I'm in favor.
Perhaps I empathize.
[End Spoiler]
In other news, I've been listening to new music, I made a charitable contribution to a humanitarian organization, I purchased candy some of which I now intend to eat, and I'm going to wait around to hear back about my Next Project.
My life is no where near as glamorous as I'm pretending it is, but at least I'm aware that I'm using the internet to construct an escapist fantasy. And that's something, right?
Also, I wish my brain could just go ahead and decided whether or not I'm actually depressed, because the mood swings are getting pretty damn annoying.
Thursday
This entry is about Harry Potter. Again.
I know, it's a little strange placed. But I haven't seen Serenity , so I'll have to talk about something else. I've been rereading the Harry Potter, and I've gotten back around to Book Six. So now I'll pick up the discussion that everyone left off several months ago. Since I've been meaning to, really, but just dropped the ball. Butterfingers!
[Begin Spoiler for And The Half Blood Prince — Highlight to view]
The first thing I want to discuss is what pisses me off. The fact that Ron and Hermione refuse to believe Harry about Malfoy pisses me off. I may (or may not) have mentioned in the past that this is a convention I typically hate: when a character is blanketly not believed, even by those closest to him, even when he's typically a rational person. It happens a lot in horror movies. And it sucks. Similarly, it really bothers me when characters have their sanity questioned or discredited. It bugs me out. I guess it's because, in fiction anyway, it seems so easy to have all your rights and abilities instantly stripped away by the mere suspicion of mental instability. And there's nothing you can do about it!
That's not really the point, though. But I am vastly disappointed that neither of Harry's best friends thought for a minute that he might be right. And it's not like it was that far-fetched a suggestion! I did not understand why they were so against the idea. The basis for their denial seems to be "Malfoy is too young to be a Death Eater." Which, frankly, is the stupidest thing I've ever heard. I suppose it could be understandable if they were thinking of the Order of the Phoenix, which seems to have an age restriction, or at least a general understanding of "too young to risk your life fighting evil." However, the flaw there is that the Order of the Phoenix cares about its members and doesn't really want to put children in danger. I doubt Voldemort gives a similar shit, really. I think it's very strange that they would think the Most Evil Wizard Ever would have any kind of scruples, especially when he's trying to build his dark army. And, unlike the Dumbledore trusting Snape thing, I really don't think Ron and Hermione have any better reasons that they're not divulging. And it's not like they haven't latched on to Harry's less founded theories, either. And it's not like either of them want to believe the best of Malfoy. And they don't think Malfoy's too incompetent, either, so I really don't know what's up with it. It's extremely annoying and rather detracts from my enjoyment of the book. It's about the only thing, but it's a pretty big thing.
Now, onto thing Number Two. That thing being: Harry is still a Horcrux. Yeah, he is. But the important thing is that I think I've come up with a way it's likely to turn out.
Pat made an entry way back describing why he doesn't like the idea of Harry being a Horcrux. Which was fair. But one of the things he brought up was the suggestion that if Harry is a Horcrux, he needs to be destroyed in order for Voldemort to be destroyed. And that's something I've wanted to address since. Because: no he doesn't. In the book we learn that a Horcrux can, indeed, be un-Horcrucified. Of course, I don't know exactly how that works, but it seems to involve fire and danger. So, it's probably not a walk through the park, but it's doable. And if Harry is a Horcrux (which he totally is) then I'm sure there's a way to undo that while causing him no lasting harm.
Then I was thinking about the prophecy, and how this relates to it. I guess prophecies are meant to sound lacey and, well, arty-farty, but I've always thought the wording "neither can live while the other survives" was a little weird. Of course, I'm a language enthusiast and a drama geek, so I might be reading too much into it, but I think there's a definite difference in meaning between the word "lives" and the word "survives." Why couldn't it be "neither can live while the other also lives"? That would have been more straightforward. I think because it was ambiguous as to the state of the survival of the participants. Surely, Voldemort can't live pleasantly if Harry's still alive, because he'd always be up to mischief and foiling his evil schemes. But why does Harry have to knock off Voldemort? Perhaps the prophecy means that Harry has to get rid of the last vestige of Voldemort - the part that's inside himself - so that he can get to living life like a real boy.
The benefit of this interpretation is that Harry would not actually have to kill Voldemort. He would merely need to stop the last part of Voldemort surviving . See, the big reveal at the end of OotP was that Harry was going to have to kill Voldemort. Or, you know, die by his hand. And I found this to be pretty anti-climactic, because, well, isn't that what we all expected? I mean, we've all read stories before, so we're not new at this. I was confused as to what the big deal was, and I was a bit chagrined when the author pointed it out to me: Murder is bad. Oh yeah. Whoops. Killing people, it seems, is something you want to avoid doing if at all possible. In fact, killing people rips your soul in half . Ouch! This is probably something that you want to avoid happening to the hero of your story. However, the prophecy says that Harry has to kill Voldemort. Or does it? And thus my point.
So, Harry's a Horcrux, but that's actually probably a good thing. Huh.
Ron and Hermione need to be kicked in the nuts for that other crap, though. I'm serious.
[End Spoiler]
Also, I watched some television shows yesterday, and they were pretty good.
[Begin Spoiler for And The Half Blood Prince — Highlight to view]
The first thing I want to discuss is what pisses me off. The fact that Ron and Hermione refuse to believe Harry about Malfoy pisses me off. I may (or may not) have mentioned in the past that this is a convention I typically hate: when a character is blanketly not believed, even by those closest to him, even when he's typically a rational person. It happens a lot in horror movies. And it sucks. Similarly, it really bothers me when characters have their sanity questioned or discredited. It bugs me out. I guess it's because, in fiction anyway, it seems so easy to have all your rights and abilities instantly stripped away by the mere suspicion of mental instability. And there's nothing you can do about it!
That's not really the point, though. But I am vastly disappointed that neither of Harry's best friends thought for a minute that he might be right. And it's not like it was that far-fetched a suggestion! I did not understand why they were so against the idea. The basis for their denial seems to be "Malfoy is too young to be a Death Eater." Which, frankly, is the stupidest thing I've ever heard. I suppose it could be understandable if they were thinking of the Order of the Phoenix, which seems to have an age restriction, or at least a general understanding of "too young to risk your life fighting evil." However, the flaw there is that the Order of the Phoenix cares about its members and doesn't really want to put children in danger. I doubt Voldemort gives a similar shit, really. I think it's very strange that they would think the Most Evil Wizard Ever would have any kind of scruples, especially when he's trying to build his dark army. And, unlike the Dumbledore trusting Snape thing, I really don't think Ron and Hermione have any better reasons that they're not divulging. And it's not like they haven't latched on to Harry's less founded theories, either. And it's not like either of them want to believe the best of Malfoy. And they don't think Malfoy's too incompetent, either, so I really don't know what's up with it. It's extremely annoying and rather detracts from my enjoyment of the book. It's about the only thing, but it's a pretty big thing.
Now, onto thing Number Two. That thing being: Harry is still a Horcrux. Yeah, he is. But the important thing is that I think I've come up with a way it's likely to turn out.
Pat made an entry way back describing why he doesn't like the idea of Harry being a Horcrux. Which was fair. But one of the things he brought up was the suggestion that if Harry is a Horcrux, he needs to be destroyed in order for Voldemort to be destroyed. And that's something I've wanted to address since. Because: no he doesn't. In the book we learn that a Horcrux can, indeed, be un-Horcrucified. Of course, I don't know exactly how that works, but it seems to involve fire and danger. So, it's probably not a walk through the park, but it's doable. And if Harry is a Horcrux (which he totally is) then I'm sure there's a way to undo that while causing him no lasting harm.
Then I was thinking about the prophecy, and how this relates to it. I guess prophecies are meant to sound lacey and, well, arty-farty, but I've always thought the wording "neither can live while the other survives" was a little weird. Of course, I'm a language enthusiast and a drama geek, so I might be reading too much into it, but I think there's a definite difference in meaning between the word "lives" and the word "survives." Why couldn't it be "neither can live while the other also lives"? That would have been more straightforward. I think because it was ambiguous as to the state of the survival of the participants. Surely, Voldemort can't live pleasantly if Harry's still alive, because he'd always be up to mischief and foiling his evil schemes. But why does Harry have to knock off Voldemort? Perhaps the prophecy means that Harry has to get rid of the last vestige of Voldemort - the part that's inside himself - so that he can get to living life like a real boy.
The benefit of this interpretation is that Harry would not actually have to kill Voldemort. He would merely need to stop the last part of Voldemort surviving . See, the big reveal at the end of OotP was that Harry was going to have to kill Voldemort. Or, you know, die by his hand. And I found this to be pretty anti-climactic, because, well, isn't that what we all expected? I mean, we've all read stories before, so we're not new at this. I was confused as to what the big deal was, and I was a bit chagrined when the author pointed it out to me: Murder is bad. Oh yeah. Whoops. Killing people, it seems, is something you want to avoid doing if at all possible. In fact, killing people rips your soul in half . Ouch! This is probably something that you want to avoid happening to the hero of your story. However, the prophecy says that Harry has to kill Voldemort. Or does it? And thus my point.
So, Harry's a Horcrux, but that's actually probably a good thing. Huh.
Ron and Hermione need to be kicked in the nuts for that other crap, though. I'm serious.
[End Spoiler]
Also, I watched some television shows yesterday, and they were pretty good.
Wednesday
*DEAD*
I considered many various witty (?) and descriptive (?) titles, but, in the end, this seems to encapsulate everything.
I just got back from Jamaica (...Queens), and boy am I fucking tired! In other words, FILMING!
On ... what was it, Tuesday? I got up at 5:45 so that I could make it to my call time of 8:30. I didn't figure out until I got into the Port Authority at 7:50 that this might have been a bit early. But it's not like I ever travel (or wake up) in the morning, so I didn't know what traffic would be like.
Filming took place at the Jamaica High School, which is so totally nicer than my high school . They have a grounds. And a dean. I didn't have any of that crap. So, I and about a hundred others were shuffled around like cattle to the auditorium, where we waited endlessly for hair and makeup while sitting about in our woolen garments. We got around to shooting at some time around 1:30, and we finished sometime before six. I now have a story to tell by way of pointing at a screen and saying "It was one billion and twelve degrees when we shot this." Just like Pop Up Video. Does VH1 still have that? Anyway. I stood around in the 82 degree heat, under the sun, in a polyester dress, wool cardigan, fleece-lined coat, and scarf. Because it was cold out. (Which makes several things in the scene irrational, but no matter) This is why, when I finally got home and got around to taking pictures of myself (I forgot my camera on both days. My hair is mostly documented, though, which is the important thing) I looked completely melted. My hair was adorable and flippy and poofy in the morning. 12 hours later, when I photgraphed it, it was not so much. MELTED. For us there was no recourse. For the small group of principle girls, there was frequent makeup touch-ups. Then there was the young ingenue, the star of the film, who for argument's sake I will call "Miss W." Miss W. had someone following her around with a big black parasol.
Stuff and business. Then I went home. I got home between 8:30 and 9. Then I called for my call day for today. (Is it still today?) Which was for 4:30AM.
Blink.
"Damn."
Then I had to figure out how I was going to get there. There's no public transportation that runs that early. Or, late. A small parental extortion later, and I had scheduled a cab to pick me up at 3:45. Then I ate a bowl of cereal. Then I went to sleep. Or rather, I had a brief nap. Then I got up again! And went back in.
Today we had our prom. Aw. It was one of the musical numbers. The song was "Hold Me Tight." An interesting choice! It was actually sung by Miss W., who is a suprisingly good singer. Surprising because I've never really thought about whether or not she can sing. But she certainly can!
Hair was an immense undertaking. Makeup too, but mostly hair. And all the ladies wore corsetesque bras that I'm pretty sure have bruised my hip bones. I wore my big pink puffball, and waited for hair and makeup. And somehow, despite being one of the first people on line, I was one of the last to get finished up. I was tired and disappointed. And I wound up being a wallflower, because they ran out of gentlemen for the ladies to dance with. Except for three young black men, who, as denizens of the 1960s, were unacceptable mates. So I sat and tapped my toes and looked disappointedly at the dance floor. It was an entirely authentic performance, I assure you.
Then SAG members and faux-SAG members (of which I was one) had a hour of lunch for reasons I can't guess at, because immediately after lunch we went home. I kept my hair and makeup, even though I might have looked like a drag queen up close. A very nice woman spent about half an hour elaborately painting me, and she was sure that I was going to be right up front. Which was nice of her. But I guess it will depend on which shot they use. Um. I kept the hair and makeup so that I could take pictures, which I did, and also show my mother, which I have.
And now, having written this on a sleep ratio of 4/38 hours, I plan to try to remove the makeup which will no doubt take me the better part of a year. And then I will pass out.
I just got back from Jamaica (...Queens), and boy am I fucking tired! In other words, FILMING!
On ... what was it, Tuesday? I got up at 5:45 so that I could make it to my call time of 8:30. I didn't figure out until I got into the Port Authority at 7:50 that this might have been a bit early. But it's not like I ever travel (or wake up) in the morning, so I didn't know what traffic would be like.
Filming took place at the Jamaica High School, which is so totally nicer than my high school . They have a grounds. And a dean. I didn't have any of that crap. So, I and about a hundred others were shuffled around like cattle to the auditorium, where we waited endlessly for hair and makeup while sitting about in our woolen garments. We got around to shooting at some time around 1:30, and we finished sometime before six. I now have a story to tell by way of pointing at a screen and saying "It was one billion and twelve degrees when we shot this." Just like Pop Up Video. Does VH1 still have that? Anyway. I stood around in the 82 degree heat, under the sun, in a polyester dress, wool cardigan, fleece-lined coat, and scarf. Because it was cold out. (Which makes several things in the scene irrational, but no matter) This is why, when I finally got home and got around to taking pictures of myself (I forgot my camera on both days. My hair is mostly documented, though, which is the important thing) I looked completely melted. My hair was adorable and flippy and poofy in the morning. 12 hours later, when I photgraphed it, it was not so much. MELTED. For us there was no recourse. For the small group of principle girls, there was frequent makeup touch-ups. Then there was the young ingenue, the star of the film, who for argument's sake I will call "Miss W." Miss W. had someone following her around with a big black parasol.
Stuff and business. Then I went home. I got home between 8:30 and 9. Then I called for my call day for today. (Is it still today?) Which was for 4:30AM.
Blink.
"Damn."
Then I had to figure out how I was going to get there. There's no public transportation that runs that early. Or, late. A small parental extortion later, and I had scheduled a cab to pick me up at 3:45. Then I ate a bowl of cereal. Then I went to sleep. Or rather, I had a brief nap. Then I got up again! And went back in.
Today we had our prom. Aw. It was one of the musical numbers. The song was "Hold Me Tight." An interesting choice! It was actually sung by Miss W., who is a suprisingly good singer. Surprising because I've never really thought about whether or not she can sing. But she certainly can!
Hair was an immense undertaking. Makeup too, but mostly hair. And all the ladies wore corsetesque bras that I'm pretty sure have bruised my hip bones. I wore my big pink puffball, and waited for hair and makeup. And somehow, despite being one of the first people on line, I was one of the last to get finished up. I was tired and disappointed. And I wound up being a wallflower, because they ran out of gentlemen for the ladies to dance with. Except for three young black men, who, as denizens of the 1960s, were unacceptable mates. So I sat and tapped my toes and looked disappointedly at the dance floor. It was an entirely authentic performance, I assure you.
Then SAG members and faux-SAG members (of which I was one) had a hour of lunch for reasons I can't guess at, because immediately after lunch we went home. I kept my hair and makeup, even though I might have looked like a drag queen up close. A very nice woman spent about half an hour elaborately painting me, and she was sure that I was going to be right up front. Which was nice of her. But I guess it will depend on which shot they use. Um. I kept the hair and makeup so that I could take pictures, which I did, and also show my mother, which I have.
And now, having written this on a sleep ratio of 4/38 hours, I plan to try to remove the makeup which will no doubt take me the better part of a year. And then I will pass out.
Friday
I'm one degree from Kirsten Dunst!
Ask me how!
Also. I have determined that my new hair cut makes me look alarmingly like the film depiction of Pansy Parkinson. Not in the picture I posted, though, so don't compare.
I'll leave it to Beth to determine what this says about my taste in boys.
Also. I have determined that my new hair cut makes me look alarmingly like the film depiction of Pansy Parkinson. Not in the picture I posted, though, so don't compare.
I'll leave it to Beth to determine what this says about my taste in boys.
Thursday
Speaking of stupid.
Lost is back!
Um. Lost is not stupid. It was pretty good. But Jack needs to be kicked, or perhaps punched, right in the nuts.
[Begin Spoiler for Lost 2.1 — Highlight to view]
He dropped the torch down the hatch hole! With the rope leading down it! WHAT IF SOMEONE HAD BEEN CLIMBING DOWN THE ROPE, JACK? Or standing at the bottom?? Geez! What is his problem??
Also, even if you don't like someone, when a shady character is holding a gun to his head and you hold that person's life in your hands? It's not the best time to get all jerky with the "I told you so"s. God. What a Jack ass. I almost hope he dies. And it's only the first episode! We'll see how he does.
Also, I pretty much knew ... 97% maybe, that the nice quasi-mystical fellow with the really bad Irish/Scottish accent was going to wind up in the hatch. It was still totally weird, though.
Shallow note: Shannon's hair is ever-so-slightly longer than it was at the end of last season. It's distracting. Also, I'm jealous.
[End Spoiler]
I also watched "Invasion" which I don't think I'll do again. I only watched it because it seemed to totally parallel the plot of an episode of The Outer Limits that was described to me recently. Totally! The crazy brother is a really good actor, though. Definitely the best on the show. Take that, William Fitchner!
Um. Lost is not stupid. It was pretty good. But Jack needs to be kicked, or perhaps punched, right in the nuts.
[Begin Spoiler for Lost 2.1 — Highlight to view]
He dropped the torch down the hatch hole! With the rope leading down it! WHAT IF SOMEONE HAD BEEN CLIMBING DOWN THE ROPE, JACK? Or standing at the bottom?? Geez! What is his problem??
Also, even if you don't like someone, when a shady character is holding a gun to his head and you hold that person's life in your hands? It's not the best time to get all jerky with the "I told you so"s. God. What a Jack ass. I almost hope he dies. And it's only the first episode! We'll see how he does.
Also, I pretty much knew ... 97% maybe, that the nice quasi-mystical fellow with the really bad Irish/Scottish accent was going to wind up in the hatch. It was still totally weird, though.
Shallow note: Shannon's hair is ever-so-slightly longer than it was at the end of last season. It's distracting. Also, I'm jealous.
[End Spoiler]
I also watched "Invasion" which I don't think I'll do again. I only watched it because it seemed to totally parallel the plot of an episode of The Outer Limits that was described to me recently. Totally! The crazy brother is a really good actor, though. Definitely the best on the show. Take that, William Fitchner!
Wednesday
I'm sorry if my aunt is one of the worst hurricanes on record.
So, hurricanes, man. Of all the things you can say about them, I've chosen to pick perhaps one of the least important aspects of them and make a fuss over it.
The naming of them.
Now, I understand why hurricanes are given names. It's much more immediate, even when you look at the abbreviated history of storms on news pages or what not. Hurricane Katrina kills people! Hurricane Andrew kills people! Hurricane Camille kills people! And then there was like this hurricane that was back around the turn of the century and it was really big? Yeah, killed people.
Back in the early 90s, my sister's soon-to-be husband was named Andrew. That was around when I started considering this. It was brought up again by a small editorial in my local paper, that I read while I was using said paper to catch drips as I painted a trim in my kitchen, describing the thoughts of some ladies named Katrina to the fact that they, it seems, destroyed New Orleans. And now there's Hurricane Rita the Category 5. Of course, like a good guinea, I have an aunt named Rita.
Does this strike anyone else as something of a bad idea? As I've said, I understand the rationale behind naming them. But must they be given peoples' names? A little girl in that article said that her classmates had been making fun of her name. Not, of course, that this is the greatest tragedy of the whole thing, but, seriously. Some things can't be helped and some things can. Having the same first name as the Long Island Lolita certainly didn't do me any favors in sixth grade.
What if, for example, you had a beloved grandmother Katrina, and you were about to give birth to a baby girl, and you could think of no better tribute than to name her after dear granny? Now, for the rest of her life (or at least for the next ten years, with varying frequency) you'll be asked why you named your child after the storm that decimated the Big Easy.
Now, with a storm like "Ophelia" -- it's not that bad. Because it's not a name many people have, and it's already famous for another reason. But "Katrina" -- that means Hurricane now. That means relief funds and refugees (or not, if you find that racist!) and floodwaters.
Then, here's a morbid consideration - if your name comes up for a hurricane, how well do you want it to do? Think about it. I mean, really, you don't want your storm to level cities and kill hundreds. Or do you? This is your shot for the record books, right? You don't want to be lame and never make it past tropical storm status, do you? Or hell, tropical depression ?? But do you really feel like having your name tied to the infamous? It's the only one you've got. (Unless you don't have a real name.)
I mean, my aunt (who may have to start going by Marguerite) has been around for quite some time. I'm sure she wouldn't appreciate me saying how long. But the better part of a century. A lot longer than this hurricane. Yet I know she's going to hear about it. I know she's going to have to think about it and its attendent destruction in relation to herself. Because, hell, that's what I'd do.
It's like this terrible commercial that I saw with my mother while we were watching Lost (hi Steph!). Although I didn't say these exact words, my thought was, "Gee, aren't you glad you lived so long to witness this?" Seriously, that's how bad it was.
It's sort of the same feeling. As stated, this is not the most terrible or lasting thing about hurricanes. But ... isn't it kind of stupid? Seriously? What's to be lost by naming hurricanes after ancient gods, or something anthropomorphic yet still mostly impersonal like that? At least they don't have feelings to hurt. Unless you've actually named your child Zeus. In which case ... he's got bigger problems.
The naming of them.
Now, I understand why hurricanes are given names. It's much more immediate, even when you look at the abbreviated history of storms on news pages or what not. Hurricane Katrina kills people! Hurricane Andrew kills people! Hurricane Camille kills people! And then there was like this hurricane that was back around the turn of the century and it was really big? Yeah, killed people.
Back in the early 90s, my sister's soon-to-be husband was named Andrew. That was around when I started considering this. It was brought up again by a small editorial in my local paper, that I read while I was using said paper to catch drips as I painted a trim in my kitchen, describing the thoughts of some ladies named Katrina to the fact that they, it seems, destroyed New Orleans. And now there's Hurricane Rita the Category 5. Of course, like a good guinea, I have an aunt named Rita.
Does this strike anyone else as something of a bad idea? As I've said, I understand the rationale behind naming them. But must they be given peoples' names? A little girl in that article said that her classmates had been making fun of her name. Not, of course, that this is the greatest tragedy of the whole thing, but, seriously. Some things can't be helped and some things can. Having the same first name as the Long Island Lolita certainly didn't do me any favors in sixth grade.
What if, for example, you had a beloved grandmother Katrina, and you were about to give birth to a baby girl, and you could think of no better tribute than to name her after dear granny? Now, for the rest of her life (or at least for the next ten years, with varying frequency) you'll be asked why you named your child after the storm that decimated the Big Easy.
Now, with a storm like "Ophelia" -- it's not that bad. Because it's not a name many people have, and it's already famous for another reason. But "Katrina" -- that means Hurricane now. That means relief funds and refugees (or not, if you find that racist!) and floodwaters.
Then, here's a morbid consideration - if your name comes up for a hurricane, how well do you want it to do? Think about it. I mean, really, you don't want your storm to level cities and kill hundreds. Or do you? This is your shot for the record books, right? You don't want to be lame and never make it past tropical storm status, do you? Or hell, tropical depression ?? But do you really feel like having your name tied to the infamous? It's the only one you've got. (Unless you don't have a real name.)
I mean, my aunt (who may have to start going by Marguerite) has been around for quite some time. I'm sure she wouldn't appreciate me saying how long. But the better part of a century. A lot longer than this hurricane. Yet I know she's going to hear about it. I know she's going to have to think about it and its attendent destruction in relation to herself. Because, hell, that's what I'd do.
It's like this terrible commercial that I saw with my mother while we were watching Lost (hi Steph!). Although I didn't say these exact words, my thought was, "Gee, aren't you glad you lived so long to witness this?" Seriously, that's how bad it was.
It's sort of the same feeling. As stated, this is not the most terrible or lasting thing about hurricanes. But ... isn't it kind of stupid? Seriously? What's to be lost by naming hurricanes after ancient gods, or something anthropomorphic yet still mostly impersonal like that? At least they don't have feelings to hurt. Unless you've actually named your child Zeus. In which case ... he's got bigger problems.
Thursday
Oh, yeah, incidentally?
I'M FUCKING BALD!!!
My hair has not been this short in ... dude. I don't even frigging know. Also, when I was trying to get a decent picture, I realized that I look alarmingly like my mother. This could be the hair, or it could be my RAPID DEGENERATIVE AGING DISEASE.
Also, this is (hopefully) not how my hair will look. This is how it looked immediately after getting home after walking through some rain and hideous humidity. I'm still wearing those clothes. And my shirt still has small sliced hairs upon it. Because that's how real time this is, bitches!
I have no hair!
My hair has not been this short in ... dude. I don't even frigging know. Also, when I was trying to get a decent picture, I realized that I look alarmingly like my mother. This could be the hair, or it could be my RAPID DEGENERATIVE AGING DISEASE.
Also, this is (hopefully) not how my hair will look. This is how it looked immediately after getting home after walking through some rain and hideous humidity. I'm still wearing those clothes. And my shirt still has small sliced hairs upon it. Because that's how real time this is, bitches!
I have no hair!
Wednesday
A haircut, a real job, and the attainment thereof.
So far, I've been paid to have people dress me up and do my hair.
I would have to say that I've definitely chosen the right profession for me. Now all I have to do is do this all the time. And not, say, just this once. We'll see how that goes.
In other news, my real world job told me to fuck off on Monday. Wait. No. That's what I told them. Only, in my head. They said they no longer required my services.
AND I COULD NOT BE HAPPIER.
I would have to say that I've definitely chosen the right profession for me. Now all I have to do is do this all the time. And not, say, just this once. We'll see how that goes.
In other news, my real world job told me to fuck off on Monday. Wait. No. That's what I told them. Only, in my head. They said they no longer required my services.
AND I COULD NOT BE HAPPIER.
Tuesday
I like this aspect.
An editorial from the Times-Picayune, September 6, by Chris Rose.
Louisiana ambassadors say hello
Dear America,
I suppose we should introduce ourselves: We're South Louisiana.
We have arrived on your doorstep on short notice and we apologize for that, but we never were much for waiting around for invitations. We're not much on formalities like that.
And we might be staying around your town for a while, enrolling in your schools and looking for jobs, so we wanted to tell you a few things about us. We know you didn't ask for this and neither did we, so we're just going to have to make the best of it.
First of all, we thank you. For your money, your water, your food, your prayers, your boats and buses and the men and women of your National Guards, fire departments, hospitals and everyone else who has come to our rescue.
We're a fiercely proud and independent people, and we don't cotton much to outside interference, but we're not ashamed to accept help when we need it. And right now, we need it.
Just don't get carried away. For instance, once we get around to fishing again, don't try to tell us what kind of lures work best in your waters.
We're not going to listen. We're stubborn that way.
You probably already know that we talk funny and listen to strange music and eat things you'd probably hire an exterminator to get out of your yard.
We dance even if there's no radio. We drink at funerals. We talk too much and laugh too loud and live too large and, frankly, we're suspicious of others who don't.
But we'll try not to judge you while we're in your town.
Everybody loves their home, we know that. But we love South Louisiana with a ferocity that borders on the pathological. Sometimes we bury our dead in LSU sweatshirts.
Often we don't make sense. You may wonder why, for instance - if we could only carry one small bag of belongings with us on our journey to your state - why in God's name did we bring a pair of shrimp boots?
We can't really explain that. It is what it is.
You've probably heard that many of us stayed behind. As bad as it is, many of us cannot fathom a life outside of our border, out in that place we call Elsewhere.
The only way you could understand that is if you have been there, and so many of you have. So you realize that when you strip away all the craziness and bars and parades and music and architecture and all that hooey, really, the best thing about where we come from is us.
We are what made this place a national treasure. We're good people. And don't be afraid to ask us how to pronounce our names. It happens all the time.
When you meet us now and you look into our eyes, you will see the saddest story ever told. Our hearts are broken into a thousand pieces.
But don't pity us. We're gonna make it. We're resilient. After all, we've been rooting for the Saints for 35 years. That's got to count for something.
OK, maybe something else you should know is that we make jokes at inappropriate times.
But what the hell.
And one more thing: In our part of the country, we're used to having visitors. It's our way of life.
So when all this is over and we move back home, we will repay to you the hospitality and generosity of spirit you offer to us in this season of our despair.
That is our promise. That is our faith.
Louisiana ambassadors say hello
Dear America,
I suppose we should introduce ourselves: We're South Louisiana.
We have arrived on your doorstep on short notice and we apologize for that, but we never were much for waiting around for invitations. We're not much on formalities like that.
And we might be staying around your town for a while, enrolling in your schools and looking for jobs, so we wanted to tell you a few things about us. We know you didn't ask for this and neither did we, so we're just going to have to make the best of it.
First of all, we thank you. For your money, your water, your food, your prayers, your boats and buses and the men and women of your National Guards, fire departments, hospitals and everyone else who has come to our rescue.
We're a fiercely proud and independent people, and we don't cotton much to outside interference, but we're not ashamed to accept help when we need it. And right now, we need it.
Just don't get carried away. For instance, once we get around to fishing again, don't try to tell us what kind of lures work best in your waters.
We're not going to listen. We're stubborn that way.
You probably already know that we talk funny and listen to strange music and eat things you'd probably hire an exterminator to get out of your yard.
We dance even if there's no radio. We drink at funerals. We talk too much and laugh too loud and live too large and, frankly, we're suspicious of others who don't.
But we'll try not to judge you while we're in your town.
Everybody loves their home, we know that. But we love South Louisiana with a ferocity that borders on the pathological. Sometimes we bury our dead in LSU sweatshirts.
Often we don't make sense. You may wonder why, for instance - if we could only carry one small bag of belongings with us on our journey to your state - why in God's name did we bring a pair of shrimp boots?
We can't really explain that. It is what it is.
You've probably heard that many of us stayed behind. As bad as it is, many of us cannot fathom a life outside of our border, out in that place we call Elsewhere.
The only way you could understand that is if you have been there, and so many of you have. So you realize that when you strip away all the craziness and bars and parades and music and architecture and all that hooey, really, the best thing about where we come from is us.
We are what made this place a national treasure. We're good people. And don't be afraid to ask us how to pronounce our names. It happens all the time.
When you meet us now and you look into our eyes, you will see the saddest story ever told. Our hearts are broken into a thousand pieces.
But don't pity us. We're gonna make it. We're resilient. After all, we've been rooting for the Saints for 35 years. That's got to count for something.
OK, maybe something else you should know is that we make jokes at inappropriate times.
But what the hell.
And one more thing: In our part of the country, we're used to having visitors. It's our way of life.
So when all this is over and we move back home, we will repay to you the hospitality and generosity of spirit you offer to us in this season of our despair.
That is our promise. That is our faith.
Sunday
That's all I was looking for.
"But to my country I want to say this: During this crisis you failed us. You looked down on us; you dismissed our victims; you dismissed us. You want our Jazz Fest, you want our Mardi Gras, you want our cooking and our music. Then when you saw us in real trouble, when you saw a tiny minority preying on the weak among us, you called us 'Sin City,' and turned your backs.
Well, we are a lot more than all that. And though we may seem the most exotic, the most atmospheric and, at times, the most downtrodden part of this land, we are still part of it. We are Americans. We are you."
-- Anne Rice September 4, 2005
Well, we are a lot more than all that. And though we may seem the most exotic, the most atmospheric and, at times, the most downtrodden part of this land, we are still part of it. We are Americans. We are you."
-- Anne Rice September 4, 2005
Monday
NATTY GANN!
I was fitted for costumes today. I don't want to say anything until I'm stuck in front of a camera, because crazy paranoia has settled in.
Anyway, I was shuffled in front of the costume designer for inspection. Then the nice fellow dressing me took me back to make some alterations. I asked him if we'd show the costume director again when we were done, and he looked at me with this look of terror, waved his hands and shook his head a little when he said "Oh no." In the same quiet voice he went on to explain that the short little old man I'd just met had won two Oscars. It was kind of awesome and hilarious.
He's also been nominated for three other projects. One of which. Is The Journey Of Natty Gann.
I am more excited about this than anything else so far. I'm so serious. You have no idea.
Anyway, I was shuffled in front of the costume designer for inspection. Then the nice fellow dressing me took me back to make some alterations. I asked him if we'd show the costume director again when we were done, and he looked at me with this look of terror, waved his hands and shook his head a little when he said "Oh no." In the same quiet voice he went on to explain that the short little old man I'd just met had won two Oscars. It was kind of awesome and hilarious.
He's also been nominated for three other projects. One of which. Is The Journey Of Natty Gann.
I am more excited about this than anything else so far. I'm so serious. You have no idea.
Saturday
Wait, what?
Okay. So. Last week on the 18th (which, incidentally, was my cousin's 25th birthday) I was not at work. Beth figured this out because I was not using webmail, which formats my emails differently then they are usually formatted. But I didn't really tell anybody beforehand. I told Beth, obviously. And Lauren.
I went to an audition for this movie, directed by this director and starring a young acclaimed actress. It has something to do with the Beatles but not directly. They said, "dress up like 60s people." And so I did, purchasing a dress from the internet in short order and doing my hair and makeup as best I was able. I decided to be a mod (heeee) since I was sure 90% of everybody would be showing up as hippies. I think I was totally right.
Pictures, incidentally, are available. I'm either totally pretty or depressingly hideous, depending on my mood.
Also, according to the form I filled out, this film may have naked people in it. I'll totally not be one of them.
I got a call yesterday morning from a fellow named Robert. It was around noon, so I was totally still in bed and I got up to check the phone, which was displaying "Unavailable#." Interesting, but I went back to sleep until I felt I could adequately did with things. And I showered and got dressed before I listened to the message, because I'm weird.
He wanted to know about my availability. For the movie. And then I had a orderly conversation, and scheduled an appointment to be fitted for costume. And then I called my mother and spent 15 minutes hopping around.
... Keen-eyed readers may have noticed that I am not at my house.
I went to an audition for this movie, directed by this director and starring a young acclaimed actress. It has something to do with the Beatles but not directly. They said, "dress up like 60s people." And so I did, purchasing a dress from the internet in short order and doing my hair and makeup as best I was able. I decided to be a mod (heeee) since I was sure 90% of everybody would be showing up as hippies. I think I was totally right.
Pictures, incidentally, are available. I'm either totally pretty or depressingly hideous, depending on my mood.
Also, according to the form I filled out, this film may have naked people in it. I'll totally not be one of them.
I got a call yesterday morning from a fellow named Robert. It was around noon, so I was totally still in bed and I got up to check the phone, which was displaying "Unavailable#." Interesting, but I went back to sleep until I felt I could adequately did with things. And I showered and got dressed before I listened to the message, because I'm weird.
He wanted to know about my availability. For the movie. And then I had a orderly conversation, and scheduled an appointment to be fitted for costume. And then I called my mother and spent 15 minutes hopping around.
... Keen-eyed readers may have noticed that I am not at my house.
Friday
Poor Tiny Lauren!
She's going to have to buy so many movie tickets!
Just because I'm going to be in some movie about the Beatles.
HOLY CRAP!
...Extra. But, still.
Just because I'm going to be in some movie about the Beatles.
HOLY CRAP!
...Extra. But, still.
Tuesday
Strong baritone!
"He is brash, defiant, and bold. He breaks all the rules and never gives up. Makes his own way in the world and has a strong sense of morality. Should be tall and striking. A rock or movie star presence. Strong baritone."
Holy crap. I can't believe this show is really getting made. It's so crazy.
In news that is very unrelated ... today is my Aunt Rose's birthday. She is 92 years old.
Holy crap. I can't believe this show is really getting made. It's so crazy.
In news that is very unrelated ... today is my Aunt Rose's birthday. She is 92 years old.
Wednesday
How did that happen!
I just made a rather enormous insect disappear. I didn't even have to use clever Latin! Seriously. It was in my bathroom. On the ceiling. I have no idea what it was, but it looked like a cross between a cricket and a giant moth. Maybe. Something. I don't know. It had really long antennae. My instinct was that it probably wouldn't try to kill me, but holy crap was it a large bug.
I grabbed a magazine with which to attempt to brush it down off the ceiling. It actually took me several attempts, even though my ceiling isn't that high, because of the stumpy nature of my limbs. But finally, I got it.
And then it disappeared. I didn't smash it, just swooshed it. And then it was gone. I checked the places I thought it might be. In my hair? On my clothes? In my hair? In my clothes? On me? In my hair? Towels? On my clothes? Floor? In my hair? In the magazine? On my legs?
People. It disappeared. I can't think of any other explanation of how this rather large, rather slow moving thing was in my line of sight and then no where to be found a fraction of a second later.
Unless it's in my hair.
... It's not in my hair.
I got a dress today. It came in the mail. I'm not going to work tomorrow. I'm dressing up. It promises to be great.
I grabbed a magazine with which to attempt to brush it down off the ceiling. It actually took me several attempts, even though my ceiling isn't that high, because of the stumpy nature of my limbs. But finally, I got it.
And then it disappeared. I didn't smash it, just swooshed it. And then it was gone. I checked the places I thought it might be. In my hair? On my clothes? In my hair? In my clothes? On me? In my hair? Towels? On my clothes? Floor? In my hair? In the magazine? On my legs?
People. It disappeared. I can't think of any other explanation of how this rather large, rather slow moving thing was in my line of sight and then no where to be found a fraction of a second later.
Unless it's in my hair.
... It's not in my hair.
I got a dress today. It came in the mail. I'm not going to work tomorrow. I'm dressing up. It promises to be great.
Tuesday
Awesome.
 | You scored as Albus Dumbledore. Strong and powerful you admirably defend your world and your charges against those who would seek to harm them. However sometimes you can fail to do what you must because you care too much to cause suffering.
Your Harry Potter Alter Ego Is...? created with QuizFarm.com |
Monday
"There's no place like 127.86.7.1"
This was on a bumper sticker on a car parked at the Purple House. Three of you know which one I mean. I giggled a lot. A lot.
This morning, I found out that Peter Jennings died, and I fought down tears for almost two hours, because I had to answer phones.
This morning, I found out that Peter Jennings died, and I fought down tears for almost two hours, because I had to answer phones.
Thursday
Why are all my ideas for bumper stickers blaphemous?
Man. I don't really like my job. I mean, it's not terrible. Most of the people are pretty awesome. The ladies are great, and really attractive. The young gents are cool, because they haven't developed egos yet. Oh! But BP has left the building, permanently. And he left in the middle of the day, so I didn't have the chance to ask how old he was. Sorry Pat! But then again, I didn't want him to 66 me. I'm in a whole new fandom these days.
Shit. There I go again, saying things that make no sense except to me and maybe one or two other people. I'm tired. That's my excuse.
Anyway, what I don't like revolves around the fact that it's boring. I sit in front of the phone and wait for it to ring. And I can't move too far from it in case it rings. It creates all this unpleasant tenseness in me. Then, there's the fact that I answer the phone. That's my job. Which is insane, because for many years I was petrified of talking on the phone. I think I finally started getting better once I started talking to internet weirdos, incidentally. Like, I remember the first time I called Pat, and he hated talking on the phone, and I hated talking on the phone, but we managed to have a conversation for, like, half an hour. It was pretty cool.
When I was in HiCal this spring, Mary-Jane and I watched American Idol together while the menfolk ditched us and we were charged with the particularly cruel task of calling to order pizza. I volunteered, because I've gotten so much better about this phone thing. Sometimes, I can even pick up the receiver *lazily.*
But I still don't like talking on the phone if I can help it. When I talk on the phone to people I love, my breath still sometimes get shallow and I start gasping for breath. I don't know why. It just does. And while I'm okay at my job, somewhere in me, it still freaks me out. It still causes this tension and unpleasantness, it's just hidden. I'm really relieved when I don't have to be there.
Not that I think I'd be happier in a non-receptionist position. I've always known that I would not do well in an office job. And perhaps I'm being proven right now because I have absolutely no interest in what this company does. It was okay doing clerical business at the McCarter, because I loved what I was doing there, no matter how small.
Here, gruff gentlemen call up and sound irate before I even speak to them. Then I try to put them through to the guy who's always stressed out and never wants to take calls because he gets about fifty a day, and his assistant is never at her desk, so the same person calls back a minute later saying, "Uh, I wanted to talk to [what's his face] and you gave me his secretary's voicemail!"
Sorry dude! This probably wouldn't happen if they could see how cute I am. Alas, they can't. My hair's getting so long again. This makes me happy.
I have this persistent fear that the people on the other end are going to start yelling at me. I hate having to put people on hold, holding my breath until the little beep that tells me that it's been a minute. I don't know what to tell them when one of the gents tells me to lie and say that he's not in the office, like happened today. I don't like lying. I'm not very good at it. And I'm completely sure that the person on the other end knows I'm lying. It makes me feel really unpleasant.
The highlight of my day is coming back from my lunch break (1-2PM EST, during which I typically do not eat lunch, but wonder who I can call up. If you're interested, let me know!) and sorting the mail. Even though half of it isn't addressed to anyone in particular. It kills at least an hour, and nearly two on Mondays.
Here's something good, though: I always have a piece of scrap paper to take down the names and business of people who call in. I've started picking various bits of my scribblings and labelling them "For Enemies." This cracks me up so much. SO MUCH. You have no idea.
Shit. There I go again, saying things that make no sense except to me and maybe one or two other people. I'm tired. That's my excuse.
Anyway, what I don't like revolves around the fact that it's boring. I sit in front of the phone and wait for it to ring. And I can't move too far from it in case it rings. It creates all this unpleasant tenseness in me. Then, there's the fact that I answer the phone. That's my job. Which is insane, because for many years I was petrified of talking on the phone. I think I finally started getting better once I started talking to internet weirdos, incidentally. Like, I remember the first time I called Pat, and he hated talking on the phone, and I hated talking on the phone, but we managed to have a conversation for, like, half an hour. It was pretty cool.
When I was in HiCal this spring, Mary-Jane and I watched American Idol together while the menfolk ditched us and we were charged with the particularly cruel task of calling to order pizza. I volunteered, because I've gotten so much better about this phone thing. Sometimes, I can even pick up the receiver *lazily.*
But I still don't like talking on the phone if I can help it. When I talk on the phone to people I love, my breath still sometimes get shallow and I start gasping for breath. I don't know why. It just does. And while I'm okay at my job, somewhere in me, it still freaks me out. It still causes this tension and unpleasantness, it's just hidden. I'm really relieved when I don't have to be there.
Not that I think I'd be happier in a non-receptionist position. I've always known that I would not do well in an office job. And perhaps I'm being proven right now because I have absolutely no interest in what this company does. It was okay doing clerical business at the McCarter, because I loved what I was doing there, no matter how small.
Here, gruff gentlemen call up and sound irate before I even speak to them. Then I try to put them through to the guy who's always stressed out and never wants to take calls because he gets about fifty a day, and his assistant is never at her desk, so the same person calls back a minute later saying, "Uh, I wanted to talk to [what's his face] and you gave me his secretary's voicemail!"
Sorry dude! This probably wouldn't happen if they could see how cute I am. Alas, they can't. My hair's getting so long again. This makes me happy.
I have this persistent fear that the people on the other end are going to start yelling at me. I hate having to put people on hold, holding my breath until the little beep that tells me that it's been a minute. I don't know what to tell them when one of the gents tells me to lie and say that he's not in the office, like happened today. I don't like lying. I'm not very good at it. And I'm completely sure that the person on the other end knows I'm lying. It makes me feel really unpleasant.
The highlight of my day is coming back from my lunch break (1-2PM EST, during which I typically do not eat lunch, but wonder who I can call up. If you're interested, let me know!) and sorting the mail. Even though half of it isn't addressed to anyone in particular. It kills at least an hour, and nearly two on Mondays.
Here's something good, though: I always have a piece of scrap paper to take down the names and business of people who call in. I've started picking various bits of my scribblings and labelling them "For Enemies." This cracks me up so much. SO MUCH. You have no idea.
Sunday
And, now I'm back.
Book status: Finished!
One word summary: Dude.
Initial comments: Damn I'm good! I totally figured out everything except for one thing, which I will now claim doesn't really make sense. I mean, the explanation was decent enough, but still. And it makes "sense" and everything, but. ...It doesn't work for me. Oh, and then there was that one thing that was a total surprise.
On that note: I totally know who it is.
One word summary: Dude.
Initial comments: Damn I'm good! I totally figured out everything except for one thing, which I will now claim doesn't really make sense. I mean, the explanation was decent enough, but still. And it makes "sense" and everything, but. ...It doesn't work for me. Oh, and then there was that one thing that was a total surprise.
On that note: I totally know who it is.
Friday
The Spish and I will not be neighbors.
Or maybe we will! Also, seriously. Hobo spiders. From Pat, from findyourspot.com
1. Worchester, Massachusetts. "The Heart of the Commonwealth"
This city at the heart of New England is home to the EcoTarium, a science center for all ages… Population: 502,500 Avg. Home Price: $215,000
2. Providence, Rhode Island "New England’s Best Kept Kept Secret"
This Rhode Island spot is the home of the award-winning flaming sculpture WaterFire, installed on the three rivers of downtown... Population: 1,213,000 Avg. Home Price: $242,000
3. New Haven, Connecticut "Home of Yale University"
The first hamburger was cooked at Louis' Lunch in this Connecticut spot in 1900... Population: 542,000 Avg. Home Price: $175,000
(New fucking Haven? Heh!)
4. Baltimore, Maryland "The Sparkling Harbor City"
This Atlantic seaboard city is home to the National Aquarium… Population: 4,750,000 Avg. Home Price: $215,000
(Bwahahahahahahahahahahaaaa! No thanks!)
5. Hartford, Connecticut "The Insurance Capital"
This Connecticut city is home to America's oldest State House, oldest public art museum, and oldest continuously published newspaper... Population: 871,500 Avg. Home Price: $148,000
6. Boston, Massachusetts "America’s Walking City"
Here in "America's Walking City," you can stroll down to famous Franklin Park for the annual Kite Festival... Population: 3,400,00 Avg. Home Price: $461,500
7. Danbury, Connecticut "Small-Town Charm Near the Big Apple"
Zadoc Benedict began making beaver hats here in 1780, starting this Connecticut town's important hat industry... Population: 75,000 Avg. Home Price: $280,000
8. Frederick, Maryland "Where The Past Comes Alive"
This Maryland city's Great Fair is one of the nation's oldest county agricultural fairs… Population: 53,000 Avg. Home Price: $280,000
9. Charleston, West Virginia "The Home of Hospitality"
For a taste of yesteryear, catch the boat races at this West Virginia city's annual Sternwheel Regatta... Population: 53,000 Avg. Home Price: $149,000
10. Gaithersburg, Maryland "The Park City"
This town is home to a "Latitude Observatory" - one of five in the world - built in 1899 to measure the wobble of the earth's axis... Population: 53,000 Avg. Home Price: $300,000
11. Cape Cod, Massachusetts "Jewel of the New England Coast"
This peninsula is home to the oldest public library in America: the Sturgis Library, established in 1644… Population: 222,000 Avg. Home Price: $325,000
12. Milwaulkee, Wisconsin "The Genuine American City"
This Wisconsin "City of Festivals" celebrates its diverse ethnic heritage all year long, with over 20 major cultural festivals… Population: 1,500,000 Avg. Home Price: $125,000
(????)
13. Portland, Oregon "City of Roses"
This Oregon city has the nation's largest forested municipal park, the aptly-named Forest Park… Population: 2,000,000 Avg. Home Price: $259,000
14. Washington, District of Columbia "The World's Greatest Capital"
This most patriotic of American cities was laid out by a French architect… Population: 572,000 Avg. Home Price: $300,000
(I distinctly said "no corruption, please")
15. Chicago, Illinois "The Windy City"
This big city has more shopping center space per capita than any other American city… Population: 2,869,000 Avg. Home Price: $237,000
(If I lived here, I could see fine musical acts. Furthermore, I hear it's clean.)
16. Little Rock, Arkansas "Where America Comes Together"
All Maybelline products distributed in the U.S. are made in this fashion-conscious spot… Population: 584,000 Avg. Home Price: $150,000
17. Stamford-Norwalk, Connecticut "Connecticut’s Key Cities"
This seaside spot in Connecticut is projected to have the highest median income in the country by 2009… Population: 353,600 Avg. Home Price: $365,000
(Then why does it think I can afford it? Why does it think I can afford any of these places!)
18. Carson City, Nevada "Nevada’s Historic Capital"
This Frontier city thrived and became a territorial capital following the discovery of the famous Comstock silver lode in the 1850's… Population: 55,000 Avg. Home Price: $290,000
(Hey! At least somebody can live in Nevada!)
19. Cambridge, Massachusetts "Boston’s Spirited Sister"
Home to Harvard, MIT, and a large number of high-tech companies, this spot is world-renowned as an educational and technological mecca… Population: 101,600 Avg. Home Price: $540,700
20. Medford, Oregon "Gateway to the Pacific Northwest"
This gorgeous spot boasts the West's only operating water-powered grist mill, located on the banks of Little Butte Creek since 1872… Population: 190,000 Avg. Home Price: $238,000
21. Madison, Wisconsin "Athens Of The Midwest"
Located between lakes Monona and Mendota, this picturesque spot is the only North American city built on an isthmus… Population: 436,500 Avg. Home Price: $202,000
22. Bend, Oregon "Oregon’s Natural Playground"
This Oregon town's municipal airport was used for pilot training during World War II… Population: 52,000 Avg. Home Price: $209,000
23. Sheboygan, Wisconsin "Wisconsin’s Jewel on the Lake"
Reader's Digest declared this the best spot in the country to raise a family… Population: 51,000 Avg. Home Price: $125,000
24. Fayetteville, Arkansas "Light of the Ozarks"
Near the University of Arkansas campus, this town's Dickson Street is filled with lively bistros, night clubs and galleries… Population: 58,000 Avg. Home Price: $165,000
1. Worchester, Massachusetts. "The Heart of the Commonwealth"
2. Providence, Rhode Island "New England’s Best Kept Kept Secret"
3. New Haven, Connecticut "Home of Yale University"
(New fucking Haven? Heh!)
4. Baltimore, Maryland "The Sparkling Harbor City"
(Bwahahahahahahahahahahaaaa! No thanks!)
5. Hartford, Connecticut "The Insurance Capital"
6. Boston, Massachusetts "America’s Walking City"
7. Danbury, Connecticut "Small-Town Charm Near the Big Apple"
8. Frederick, Maryland "Where The Past Comes Alive"
9. Charleston, West Virginia "The Home of Hospitality"
10. Gaithersburg, Maryland "The Park City"
11. Cape Cod, Massachusetts "Jewel of the New England Coast"
12. Milwaulkee, Wisconsin "The Genuine American City"
(????)
13. Portland, Oregon "City of Roses"
14. Washington, District of Columbia "The World's Greatest Capital"
(I distinctly said "no corruption, please")
15. Chicago, Illinois "The Windy City"
(If I lived here, I could see fine musical acts. Furthermore, I hear it's clean.)
16. Little Rock, Arkansas "Where America Comes Together"
17. Stamford-Norwalk, Connecticut "Connecticut’s Key Cities"
(Then why does it think I can afford it? Why does it think I can afford any of these places!)
18. Carson City, Nevada "Nevada’s Historic Capital"
(Hey! At least somebody can live in Nevada!)
19. Cambridge, Massachusetts "Boston’s Spirited Sister"
20. Medford, Oregon "Gateway to the Pacific Northwest"
21. Madison, Wisconsin "Athens Of The Midwest"
22. Bend, Oregon "Oregon’s Natural Playground"
23. Sheboygan, Wisconsin "Wisconsin’s Jewel on the Lake"
24. Fayetteville, Arkansas "Light of the Ozarks"
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